Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

He did not want to analyze it further. Godfrey much preferred to lose himself in drink, to exorcise it all, his entire, awful, royal upbringing, and to make it all as distant a memory as possible.

Godfrey was jostled by a McCloud soldier, and he snapped out of it and looked around. Now that Bronson had set all those McCloud captors free, the taverns were filled with McClouds again, the mood here in this city once again jovial, restless. Godfrey had been around taverns his entire life, had been around reckless and tactless men, and none of it had phased him. Yet here, in this city, with these men, he sensed something different in the air. Something he did not trust. He felt as if at any moment any one of these men might just as likely stab him in the back as pat him on it.

His sister had decided that this gesture, releasing the McCloud men, would create goodwill and peace with the McClouds, and would get things get back to normal. And on the surface it had. But Godfrey could not help but detect something else in the air, some general sense of unease, and he could not ignore his sense of foreboding.

Godfrey knew nothing of politics, and was a poor soldier. But he knew men. He knew, most of all, the common man. And he knew resentment among the masses when he spotted it. He sensed something brewing, as much as he would wish otherwise, and he could not help but wonder if his sister had made a bad decision. Perhaps, after all, she should abandon this place and merely patrol the border, as their father had done. Let the McClouds focus on their own side of the kingdom.

Yet as long as her policy remained to make peace between them, Godfrey would stay here, trying to abet her cause in whatever way he could, as he had promised when she’d dispatched him.

There came a sudden cheer from the other side of the room, and Godfrey looked over to see several McCloud men tackle several others to the ground, and to see that half of the room erupt into a brawl.

Godfrey turned and looked back at his drink, not wanting to get involved. It was already the second one here this evening.

“Some lions can’t be tamed,” Akorth observed quietly to Godfrey and Fulton.

“Even strong drink can’t cure everyone,” Fulton added.

Godfrey shrugged.

“It is no business of ours,” Akorth said. “As long as their drink is good and strong, I’ll gladly drink it.”

“And what of the day when their drink stops?” Fulton asked.

“Then we go someplace else!” Akorth replied with a laugh.

Godfrey tried to drown his friends out. He was tired of their endless banter, which always filled his ears, their juvenile ways. In the past he had always gone along with it; but these days, some change was stirring within Godfrey, especially since his mother’s funeral. For the first time, he was starting to view his friends as juvenile, and it was actually bothering him; for the first time, despite himself, he found himself wanting to rebuke them for not being more mature. Mature. It was a scary word for Godfrey, and he did not entirely understand why he was starting to view it differently. He shuddered, hoping he was not becoming like the man he hated most—his father.

Godfrey was about to get up, walk outside, and get some fresh air, when suddenly, he recognized a familiar face—a woman—as she came up beside him.

“And what are you doing here drinking?” she asked, standing over him, disapproving.

Godfrey was shocked she had tracked him down here, and he looked away, ashamed. He had promised her not to drink, and now he was caught red-handed.

“I’m just having a quick drink,” Godfrey replied, looking away.

Illepra shook her head and snatched the drink from his hand.

“You are wasting your life in here, don’t you see that? Your mother was just buried. Don’t you see how precious life is?”

Godfrey glowered.

“I don’t need reminding of it,” he retorted.

“Then why are you here?” she demanded.

“Where else would you have me be?” he asked.

“ Where else ?” she asked, puzzled. “Anywhere but here. You should be out there with your brothers and sisters, helping to rebuild the Ring. To defend our kingdom. To do any of a myriad of things except for the nothing you achieve by sitting here.”

“Maybe I’m achieving great things by sitting here,” Godfrey countered, sitting up straighter, defiant.

“Like what?” she asked.

“I am enjoying myself,” he said. “That’s great in its own way, isn’t it? Look how many great men spend their whole lives building and bossing and killing—yet they never enjoy a single moment of life.”

Illepra shook her head in disgust.

“I believed in you,” she said. “I know you can be more than you appear to be. But you’re never going to be a great man by immersing yourself in drink. Never.”

She had finally gotten to him, had pushed all his buttons, and had reminded Godfrey of his father. Now, finally, he was upset, and he flushed with anger.

“And then tell me,” he demanded, “what is it about killing each other that makes men so great? What is it about raising a sword and taking someone’s life that makes a man someone to emulate? Yours is a narrow definition of greatness. I don’t see the virtue in killing other men, and I don’t see how that makes one a man. For me, virtue means enjoying life. Why is it so much greater to stab and kill a man than it is to sit back, laugh, and enjoy a drink with him?”

Illepra, hands on her hips, shook her head.

“Yours are the self-justifying words of a drunkard,” she said. “Not of a King’s son.”

Godfrey would not give in.

“You are wrong,” he said. “Do you really want to know what I think? I think that most men in this kingdom—including your precious knights—are so obsessed with killing each other that they’ve forgotten what it means to live. I think they kill each other for the very reason that they do not know how to live—how to truly live. Then they cover it up further with their grand terms and titles, chivalry, honor, glory, valor. Knights, commanders…. It is all an escape. After all, it is much easier to embrace death than it is to embrace life.”

Illepra, red-faced, fumed.

“And you’ve figured out how to really live?” she countered. “This is life? Getting lost in drink? Drowning out life?”

Godfrey stood there, flustered, unable to come up with a good response.

She shook her head.

“You exhaust me,” she said. “I’m not going to seek you out anymore. I like you. There’s something special about you. But I cannot abide by this anymore. If you ever grow up and become a man, then find me. Otherwise, I wish you well.”

Illepra turned, stormed out of the tavern, and slammed the door behind her.

Akorth and Fulton turned and looked at Godfrey, whistling and rolling their eyes.

“Sounds like she likes you,” Akorth said.

“Maybe you should just invite her back in for a drink!” Fulton said.

They both broke into laughter, delighted with themselves.

But Godfrey sat there, frowning, mulling over her words. They had cut him deeply. Partly because she had said the same exact words he’d been mulling over himself. What, after all, was the purpose of life? Godfrey did not feel, as many others did, that the be-all and end-all of life was to kill others in the battlefield. And yet at the same time he knew his current path held no virtue in it, either. So what was it? What made one’s life the most worthy?

Godfrey got up, stumbling, a little bit off-balance, realizing how much he’d drunk as it rushed to his head. He needed another drink now, and the bartender was at the far end of the bar, so Godfrey stumbled across the room.

As Godfrey found a new spot on the other side of the tavern, he overheard two voices whispering behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two McCloud soldiers huddled together, talking conspiratorially.